Impressions
by Emochromatic
Summary: After breaking his Hollow mask, Nnoitra is tasked with taking care of the child Szayel until he regains his memories and can figure out a way to turn back. Needless to say, babysitting the former Octava isn't going to be easy. Nnoi/Szay and lots of crack
1. First

**Impressions  
**

He'd gone too far. The scientist had miscalculated, absorbed as he'd been in provoking the Quinta Espada. Such an error was exceedingly rare, as he almost never let his guard down, but he had. And true to nature, his mistake went down with dramatic results. He could only form his lips into a silent _oh_ as Nnoitra stood, his teeth exposed in a savage snarl, and hurled his poleaxe across the table. His fury was palpable in his heavy reiatsu, which was directed entirely towards him. Paralyzed by its weight and his own surprise, Szayel didn't move until the massive weapon reached him. And by then it was too late.

His hand fluttered down to the hilt of his zanpakuto as he moved to block the blow. In vain; Santa Teresa caught him across the left cheek before he could even draw his sword. There was a moment of resistance as the poleaxe's blade pressed against his glasses and held… then a crunch as the frames broke under the force and Szayel was thrown backwards. His chair splintered beneath him and his bones creaked audibly as he slammed into the floor. His skull cracked ominously against the tiles, but none of this registered with the scientist. His right eye, wide with shock, stared sightlessly into the distance; he was entirely preoccupied with the agony that flared through the left side of his head and filled his vision with jagged shards of light. The pain was so intense that he could not even scream. Only a muffled gasp crept past his lips before he crumpled, unconscious.

The others looked on in silence at the spectacle before them. Though their meetings occasionally became violent, such a circumstance was rare. Fights were generally kept private and personal rather than public. Violence was not disallowed, but it was an unspoken rule that a certain amount of discretion must be exercised for appearance's sake. Especially among the Espada. As the highest ranked Arrancar, they were burdened with more responsibility than others of their kind and represented, if not a paragon of virtue, then at least some semblance of order.

Nnoitra seemed to realize his faux pas as he retrieved his weapon, for his expression became a little guarded. However, after another moment he sneered and sat back in his chair, propping his feet up arrogantly on the table.

"Bitch was askin' for it," he drawled by way of explanation, narrow violet eyes darting around the table as he dared his compatriots to disagree with him.

"Kindly remove your feet from the table, Nnoitra," came Aizen's voice, velvet and cool. Nnoitra looked over at the Shinigami, edgy despite his careless façade. Aizen's face was placid, but Nnoitra wasn't fooled. There was a sinister chill in his words; the man was not pleased. Nnoitra lowered his legs.

"Learn to control your temper, or I will have to discipline you myself. I have been too lenient with you, I'll concede," the Shinigami warned as he watched his subordinate comply grudgingly. Nnoitra scowled.

"He fucking deserved what I gave 'im," the Quinta spat. His moment of rebellion ceased as a crushing wave of reiatsu bore down on him, as thick and dark as tar. He grit his teeth and pushed back with his own spiritual pressure to lessen the overwhelming weight on him. Aizen's eyes glittered threateningly, the beginnings of a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. The pressure on Nnoitra tripled, and he gave up his struggling, shoulders bowing under the oppressive weight of Aizen's power. It was difficult to breathe.

"Forgive me," he finally managed to choke, overcoming pride and paralysis. The pressure lessened, but his head remained bowed. He stared at the tabletop, shoulders trembling and cheeks burning with humiliation. He'd have screamed a death threat or declared vendetta on anyone else at that point to save face, but he couldn't. Not against this man. This was Aizen after all. This was God.

"Aizen-sama."

That was Hallibel. The taciturn female had spoken up, her voice even and unconcerned. Aizen glanced over at her, acknowledging her respectful interruption.

"What is it?" he asked, perfectly collected. As if a minute ago, he hadn't been publicly punishing a mutinous underling.

"It is Szayel Aporro-san. Something is happening."

They all turned to look at where Szayel lay in an awkward heap amid the wreckage of his chair. He was still unconscious, but something indeed was happening. Even as Espada and Shinigami looked on, a pink mist rose from his broken frames and swirled around his body. He began to shrink. The change started at his limbs as they grew shorter, then moved down his extremities to the rest of his body as the process accelerated. When the reishi mist had faded, a child lay where the Octava had been, dressed in oversized clothes.

Aizen's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise.

"My…" he murmered as he took in the sight of his former Espada.

"He's a fuckin' brat!" exclaimed Nnoitra, mouth agape. He laughed a second later as he experienced a wave of déjà vu. "Just like Nelliel," he crowed, gloating over the diminished form of his latest victim.

The little figure stirred, moaned, and pulled itself up into a sitting position. Opening his right eye, the child peered around the room at his audience. He blanched, one small, pale hand flying up to touch his left eye, and Nnoitra observed how he flinched upon probing the bloody region. A long, vertical gash marked over his forehead and cheek the place where Santa Teresa had bitten into the flesh. Slivers of bone showed through where the cut ran deep enough. Though Szayel's Hierro was weaker than that of most high level Arrancar, it had saved him from dying from the vicious blow; Nnoitra hadn't been playing when he'd struck him.

The child whimpered, adjusting the twisted remains of his Hollow mask. The left lens was smashed, presumably into his eye though it was hard to tell since it was swollen shut and completely obscured by blood, and the spectacles were now positioned slightly crookedly. They also, he noticed, hadn't shrunk with him, and so they were rather big on his face. They kept sliding down the bridge of his nose, prompting him to shove them back into place every so often.

Hallibel was the first to act. She stood, casting Nnoitra a silent glare as she strode over to the dazed child and knelt in front of him, tilting his head back to assess the damage to his eye. With a strip from his outsized uniform, she cleaned away the excess blood and fragments of broken glass. His eyelid was lacerated with a crisscrossing network of shallow slashes inflicted by the glass, and one deeper line running vertical from the poleaxe, which amazingly enough hadn't sliced through the skin. Almost as soon as she'd wiped the blood away, it welled up again. She cleaned it a second time, then pulled the eyelid up to examine the eye itself. It appeared to be free of glass, scratches, and puncture wounds. His Hierro had again spared him from critical damage, and his glasses had taken most of the blow.

"He'll probably keep the eye if it doesn't get infected," she announced quietly before returning to her spot, mission complete. It remained to be seen what would actually be done about him now. Aizen leaned forward, eyes fixed on the pink haired child, and resumed control.

"Boy, do you know who I am?" he asked non-threateningly.

"Aizen-sama," was his prompt reply. The Shinigami seemed amused.

"And do you know who you are?"

"Szayel Aporro Grantz," he replied just as swiftly, then frowned. It was an endearing expression on his youthful face; almost angelic. Frustration became him just as well. "But… I only remember my name. Nothing else. My name and you."

It was spoken with wide-eyed childish candor. Aizen smiled indulgently at his reply, pleased by his answer. Nnoitra wasn't nearly so taken by his words. His violet eyes narrowed even further till they were little more than slits. _Yeah right. That answer was way too perfect. There's no way you're as ignorant as you pretend._

"Do not trouble yourself; you'll remember in due time. But you were my Octava Espada," said Aizen, his voice a purr. So, Nnoitra thought, he'd decided to make this into a game. Good thing for the brat he was so charming; Aizen did not keep useless toys around very long.

Szayel looked suitably impressed, his good eye widening even further with wonder. Magnified by the enormous glasses lens, it looked larger than usual, giving him a sweet, vulnerable look that screamed _protect me_. Oh, he was _good._

"Wow…" he breathed ingenuously with just the right inflection of awe, "I was the Octava…"

"And you may be yet, but for the moment, you are powerless until your memories return. You were a brilliant scientist. You may be able to discover a way to reverse this, but until then… we shall have to place you with a temporary guardian," Aizen said soothingly.

"I would be so honored! I will do my best to remember quickly Aizen-sama and not disappoint you!" he piped up earnestly.

Nnoitra barely resisted the urge to laugh cynically, succeeding only because he knew if he ruined Aizen's good humor now, there would be hell to pay later. It was lucky enough that the Shinigami wasn't pissed with him at how things had turned out. _Damn lucky! Guess the little bitch isn't so bad after all._

"I know you will," remarked Aizen, "So that's why I'm placing you with one of two possible candidates. You have a history with both of them, which may help you regain your memories. The familiarity will hopefully stir something. The first is your older brother Yylfordt-"

Grimmjow growled threateningly, casting a resentful look at the boy. He did not want his Fraccion and consequentially himself to be saddled with the duty of caring for Szayel. Nnoitra smirked at him, imagining the proud panther king carting around the pink haired child on his shoulders. _Pink and blue, like cotton candy. They'll match. Won't that be a sweet sight? Haha. Poor bastard._

"-the second is Nnoitra," Aizen finished serenely. Nnoitra gaped at him, stunned. Grimmjow took the opportunity and flashed him a retaliatory smirk. The Quinta's open-mouthed stare became a snarl, and he slammed his fist into the table.

"History? What fucking history! The hell I'm looking after the little brat!" he yelled, standing up again. Aizen did not force him down this time, only graced him with a cold look.

"You will do as I order Nnoitra, and you will do it without complaint. In fact, you will do it with pleasure. Now sit down."

Nnoitra sat, seething, but he didn't dare disobey. Not after all that had happened that day. Aizen was not merciful, much as he liked to portray himself that way, and it did not take much to earn castigation from him. Nnoitra was teetering on that very fine brink.

"Good. You aren't completely stupid it would seem. Szayel, I will place you first with your brother Yylfordt given the familial connection. If that does not work or the setting does not agree with you, then you will be transferred to Nnoitra. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, Aizen-sama," said Szayel with a beatific smile. Grimmjow groaned, but did not seem as antagonistic as earlier. The blue haired Arrancar's eyes found Nnoitra's and narrowed in challenge. _Just you wait,_ he seemed to say. _He'll end up with you. I'll make sure of it._ Nnoitra returned the challenge with a cocky grin and flipped him off.

"Then everything is settled. Given the unexpected events of today, I adjourn this meeting. We will resume the issues we had been discussing at a later date. You are dismissed."

Aizen waved his hand to indicate that they should leave, and the gathered Espada dispersed, heading back to their own quarters. Nnoitra did not tarry in the meeting hall, but stalked out with a jaunty air at the first opportunity. Only Grimmjow stayed behind, irritation showing in the way he tapped his foot impatiently.

"Hurry up!" he growled hostilely. Szayel dragged himself to his feet, swaying for a moment as his legs shook under him, then trotted tentatively over to the Sexta.

"Sorry…" he murmured, his golden eye imploring sympathy. Grimmjow looked away, unimpressed.

"Keep up," was all he said as he turned his back on the child and sonidoed off.

Szayel's face pinched in frustration as he tried, and failed, to do just so.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Its obvious by now I don't own this series or its characters. This is ; no one on here owns these series, and I can't imagine an author submitting fanfiction to their own series. Thus, disclaimers are rather useless in my eyes.

Alright, I'm going to apologize very quickly to my readers. For those of you who read Fuchsia Phoenix, I am not dropping that series, only taking a break. Up until today, I've been studying for my AP US History exam, so that has occupied my time. I was also sick recently, so that has also sucked. It seems though that when I am sick and have too much time on my hands staring at the ceiling for hours on end trying to ignore the pain of an earache, I think up crack all too easily. This was born of that sick day, and I had to write down the first chapter at least so that I wouldn't put it off and forget about it.

So, this series will not be updated regularly; it will be updated whenever the hell I feel like updating it since I am going into it without a set idea. :3 Its sort of my quirky experimental series. Much lighter than anything else I've written. More cuteness, more humor, less serious romance. Er... it kind of has to be or else it would turn into a shota fic. Granted, I'm probably twisted enough to write one, but that's not my intent. (Not consciously anyways. Who knows what's floating around in my subconscious...) The pairing is Nnoitra/Szayel. Don't be fooled by this first chapter... things will change in the second. Though I'm tempted to write some Grimm/Szay in the future. (If the Grimm/Ulqui fans wouldn't eat me for blaspheming against their ship. D: Can't we all get along? I'm an openminded person.) I... don't think it really counts as yaoi. o.o There will be implied pairings throughout, but... eh. Whatever. No one who hates any sort of yaoi would be reading this anyways because of the pairing. So I don't care.

See you guys around in the next chapter. ^^ Remember, read and review. Though there isn't really much to review at this point. x3

~Tinari


	2. Second

He stumbled after Grimmjow, slightly breathless as he watched the Espada draw up to a door and pound on it mercilessly.

"Open up!" he ordered in a bored tone, his eyes swiveling over to Szayel who limped down the corridor looking rather forlorn. His lips curled down in a sneer of distaste, and he drew one foot back as he prepared to kick open the door, what little patience he had reaching its limit. Fortunately for the door, Yylfordt chose that moment to open it. He murmured an apology for having taken so long to respond and offered his master a deferential half bow as he pulled it open further to admit him. At that moment, he noticed Szayel, and he quickly looked up at Grimmjow with puzzlement clear in his eyes.

"What… did you say you were here for?" he asked as Szayel finally caught up to Grimmjow. The pink haired boy adjusted his spectacles and pushed a few errant locks out of his eyes, then peered up at the man who was presumably his older brother.

"I didn't say, but I'm here 'cause of _this_," Grimmjow replied, shoving him through the door towards Yylfordt. "Aizen says you've gotta take care of him, owing to the fact you're related and he thinks somehow that'll restore his memories. Szayel, meet your older brother. Yylfordt, meet Nnoitra's little fuck up. I'll leave you two to socialize; I've got better things to do with my time."

Having facilitated introductions after his own crude fashion, the blue haired Espada left. Yylfordt's expression looking after his temperamental master was a little wistful, but his face quickly lost its softness as he glanced down at Szayel. With a frown he closed the door and beckoned him further into his room, installing him in a chair while he stood, examining him from a distance. After a minute, his frown deepened and he shook his head.

"Put something over that eye of yours; it looks unpleasant. And you'll want to disinfect those cuts soon. I have some alcohol, gauze, and cotton I can lend you in the medicine cabinet."

"Do you get into fights a lot?" Szayel asked, swinging his legs.

"Grimmjow does," he replied. Szayel flashed him a pert grin.

"Oh really? And why doesn't Grimmjow keep his own medical supplies?"

"Those are minutiae one of his status doesn't need to concern himself over," was his cool remark.

"You know what I think, brother? I think you like him."

Yylfordt stiffened, eyeing him warily.

"You have no factual basis for that statement."

"But you do have feelings for him, right?"

"I am his Fraccion. Of course I hold him in higher regard than others."

Szayel's grin widened at this reply, and the two stared at each other across the room, at an impasse for words. After a minute of silence, Yylfordt appeared to grow agitated, and his frown became an open scowl. Looking away from the impertinent pink haired child, he spoke up again. This time, his tone was markedly bitter.

"I don't know what happened to you, nor do I care, but regardless of how much you have forgotten, I will be the first to inform you that though we are brothers we were never on the best of terms. In fact, I resent you. You might even go as far to call it hatred. Do not expect a caring relationship."

Szayel's playful smiled faded as he reassessed the slender blonde. The sweet, innocent expression he'd maintained up until that point was replaced by a superior smirk and his golden eyes stared up into Yylfordt's with an arrogant sort of amusement.

"Well that's a relief. To be honest, I don't really like you either. So its good to know the feeling's mutual," he remarked callously, tilting his head. Yylfordt smiled now, the bitterness in his voice extending to his face.

"At least you're showing your true colors now. That's the way it should be."

He left him sitting in the chair while he went to fetch the medical supplies he'd promised. While he was gone, Szayel took the opportunity to look around the room. It was peaceful and well organized. The walls were painted a soft peach, more orange than pink and very subtle. Enough to lend a touch of life to the vastly lifeless white halls of Las Noches. His quarters weren't very large, as befitted a Fraccion, and he knew that somewhere, they probably connected to Grimmjow's suite. Yylfordt's room was in the Sexta's wing, like his other servants.

The floors were carpeted white, though navy designs threaded through the solid block, occasionally breaking off into a lighter blue. The patterns were mesmerizing; seemingly random but with just enough order to hint at a purposeful design. He let his eyes wander along the curling blue lines, taking in the mahogany wood of a half filled bookshelf as the dark loops carried his eyes over to the furniture. He noticed with amusement that the bed tucked into the corner was also covered by blue sheets; Yylfordt's testament to the Sexta Espada. His eyes quickly picked out the panther mask among the many carved beast masks that decorated the wall.

Something to admire about Yylfordt. If his love was desperate and pathetic, then at least he was subtle about his affections. One would only see the signs if they knew to look, which he doubted the impulsive, battle driven Espada would. And Yylfordt was in no position to tell Grimmjow openly either; he was only a Fraccion. His feelings would likely go unreciprocated, for his one sided love was impossibly unbalanced. It was little wonder the blonde Arrancar resented Szayel so. No, envied him his position.

Yylfordt returned with a bottle of antiseptic in one hand and a stack of gauze, cotton tipped applicators, ointment, and medical tape in the other. Kneeling in front of him, he set all aside but for a cotton applicator and the antiseptic bottle, which he opened. The sharp scent of alcohol rose up to meet him, bringing back memories of a sterile white room with metallic instruments and a cold flat table. His lab. Szayel felt nostalgic as he closed his eyes and inhaled the acrid vapors.

"Stay like that please. It will make my job easier," said Yylfordt as he pulled his glasses down to reach his eyelid. His tapered fingers tugged the skin taut, and he was gentle despite his professed dislike for the boy. The alcohol stung as it entered the wounds, but Szayel relished the pain, knowing it was a good thing. Yylfordt paused in his ministrations.

Szayel could feel his eyes examining his face closely and his curiosity rising in spite of his earlier declaration that he couldn't be bothered with the details of what had landed him in his care. When the Fraccion reversed the cotton tip, dipped it into the antiseptic, and started on the vertical gash that lined his face from eyebrow to cheekbone, Szayel couldn't help but flinch. He pulled away from his brother's touch, opening his right eye, which narrowed a second later in pain. His lips thinned to pale lines as he fought not to hiss at the burning sensation. Yylfordt gave him a hopeless look but abandoned the alcohol, recapping it. He picked up the ointment and quickly daubed it over the cuts, looking frustrated. After a minute of this, he finally overcame his reservations and asked.

"What happened? Grimmjow mentioned Nnoitra was involved."

"I suppose he was," mused Szayel, relaxing as the cool cream deadened the pain. Whatever else was in it, it at least contained an anesthetic, and the pink haired child was grateful for this.

"You _suppose_," repeated Yylfordt, arching one elegant eyebrow.

"He… hit me in the face with his poleaxe from what I can gather. Somehow that turned me into a child. I suspect it has something to do with my hollow mask breaking and my reishi. Perhaps it leaked out of the crack?"

"You mean you don't remember him trying to kill you?"

"Its all very vague. I have partial amnesia."

"Partial? Not total?"

"What remains to me consists mostly of strong impressions, emotions, and the occasional concrete memory. Out of context though, these tell me little. I have not completely forgotten myself."

Yylfordt looked thoughtful as he folded a length of gauze into a square patch and positioned it over his eye. He affixed it to his face using the medical tape, then sat back on his heels to assess his handiwork. He seemed content with what he saw, for he began to gather up his supplies again.

"Impressions… that explains why you didn't like me."

"Yes. I consider you quite beneath me, brother."

"Even when you're weaker than me. Hah. I ought to beat you while I have the chance."

"Aizen would not be pleased."

"Aizen isn't the one who worries me. Its you, if you regain your memories and return to your former strength. Brother, you are a vengeful bastard. Arrogant, egotistical, and sadistic. The revenge you'd exact would surpass anything that Aizen would do to me."

"You wound me, Yylfordt."

"Take my words to heart, and the next time they may not cut so deeply. But speaking of cuts…"

Yylfordt looked slightly sympathetic as he traced a finger down his cheek parallel to the one that marred his skin.

"This one is going to scar. Badly. I wouldn't be surprised if the lacerations scar permanently too. A pity… you were always so proud of your face. What a bastard the Quinta is."

"And what is my circumstance to you?" asked Szayel stiffly, lower lip drawing down into a sulky pout. The blonde stared at him for a moment then stood, shoving the medical supplies into his hands brusquely.

"I don't know. I don't know why I even bother. Maybe because despite how little you think of me and how callously you treat me, I still acknowledge that we are siblings and I harbor a small amount of regard for you. You are my younger brother; I feel a little responsible for your well being. Even if you are a crazy bitch. But you don't care about that, and it doesn't matter all that much to me either, so I'll just say it this way: I sympathize with your situation because I myself would be devastated if the same thing happened to me."

He walked away from him, pacing absentmindedly with an exasperated look on his face. Which, Szayel realized, was a more adult version of his. They had the same face. He smiled wryly; Yylfordt probably saw his own fate in him. With such a violent master, it was very possible he'd be injured in a battle some day. Bodily scars he could hide, but one to the face? Poor wretch. What a sad way to live. It seemed they were more similar than he'd thought.

"I see," he remarked to the tall blonde's back. Yylfordt paused in his pacing and turned to face him, a little surprised by his subdued tone. He shrugged this puzzlement off quickly though and went over to his bed, looking pensive.

"What to do with you…" he breathed, a little troubled, "You can't stay here. Grimmjow will be angry."

"Wouldn't want to destroy your thriving love life," remarked Szayel wryly. Yylfordt winced.

"I told you, I don't…" he began.

"And I don't believe you," Szayel cut in, smirking.

"Well regardless of how I feel, he isn't going to be happy with me if I keep you around. Whatever Aizen says," he replied, defensive. Szayel nodded.

"I know. I kind of got that feeling from him on the way over."

"Then you know you can't stay."

"Yes. Not to worry dearest brother. Aizen gave two options for my guardian, and you were only the first. The whole point of my staying with someone was to hopefully help me regain my memories more quickly. Living with you will be quite a useless endeavor since I don't share many relevant memories with you. I assume. Or that is the feeling I get."

"Ah," Yylfordt said, looking somewhat relieved, "That's good. Who is the second candidate?"

"Nnoitra."

Yylfordt's eyes widened, and he gaped and stuttered for a long minute before he managed to collect his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"What? Aizen is mad! Placing you with_ him_ after what he did?"

"It isn't so bad. I want to go to Nnoitra," the pink haired child remarked with a mysterious smile.

"_You're_ mad Szayel. Why would you want to live with him? He'll kill you. You're weaker than the average Hollow now… maybe even human level."

"There is that possibility, yes," Szayel conceded. Yylfordt looked nonplussed.

"You really do have a death wish. I never thought you were suicidal, but now… I question your sanity more than ever. Its no wonder you are, or were, the Octava."

Szayel sighed and stood, walking over to the Fraccion. Standing before him, he drew himself up as tall as he could and extended his hand so his index finger pointed straight towards the panther mask on the wall. He then crossed his arms, looking incredibly disdainful and more self righteous than any child had a right to be.

"As do I, Yylfordt, but you don't hear me criticizing you. I only laugh and smile at your folly, because even I'm not that big of a hypocrite."

"Hypocrite? What are you…"

Yylfordt trailed off as he comprehended his words.

"Oh! Oh my… you..?"

"Yes."

"And you remember?"

"Its one of the few things I'm sure about. Left a pretty big impression on me."

"But Szayel… it will never work. Especially not with you like this. He doesn't care for weakness."

"That's my problem. I can puzzle out my own problems myself. I don't need your pity or your sympathy. Frankly, I don't want it either. You're pitiful enough."

"Fine!" Yylfordt gave up, shaking his head, "It isn't as though you have another choice. I'll take you over to Nnoitra's wing in a bit, but first… you should get some new clothes. You look disgraceful."

Szayel grimaced wryly.

"Thank you so much for your kind words."

"I don't think we have any clothes your size in Las Noches either, so we will have to improvise… Make something new or modify an existing garment heavily. Here, lets go see what there is in the supply closet," Yylfordt continued without commenting on his sarcastic reply. So… he was back to being the cool and composed figure from earlier. Szayel felt a small flash of irritation as Yylfordt stood and strode purposefully over to the door. He could pretend to be dignified; Szayel knew he wasn't. Not really. But he could affect that air, and Szayel couldn't anymore. He could be charming, but not dignified. No one would take him seriously as a child. Then again…

In the back of his mind, something whispered that it was not so bad to be a child. That he was not quite so disadvantaged as he appeared. He strove to follow this train of thought and discover why, but it fled before him; elusive. He left it, knowing that if he pursued the idea he would lose it entirely. Perhaps it would come to him later. With a sigh of resignation, he followed Yylfordt out of the room.

Nnoitra was enjoying his afternoon free of disturbances until the knock came. Casting a lazy eye towards the door, he used his pequisa to determine the strength of his visitor. Not very powerful; Fraccion level. About Tesla's strength, and another. Two then, but the second was extremely weak, weaker than any Arrancar he'd ever felt. Definitely not worth _his_ time.

"Tesla!" he hollered, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa. His one eyed Fraccion appeared moments later, looking appropriately servile.

"Yes, Nnoitra-sama?" he asked quietly, standing at attention.

"Go answer the door. Take care of whatever's the problem," he drawled, waving him off. The smaller man nodded and drifted over to the door, opening it. Nnoitra could hear him addressing his unexpected guests in neutral, polite tones.

"Nnoitra-sama is indisposed at the moment and cannot welcome visitors…"

_Good boy. Lie through your teeth if it'll get rid of 'em,_ Nnoitra thought approvingly.

"I… see. That is… I will tell him."

_Wait, what? Tell me what? Why aren't they gone!_

"Master Nnoitra…"

Tesla approached him, looking apologetic and mildly confused. Nnoitra glared at him pointedly, but the Arrancar did not even fidget under his withering look; he was long since used to his hostility.

"What?" he asked when Tesla did not shrink away.

"Your visitors insist on your presence, and… I also believe you should speak to them. The situation is a little unusual."

"Useless pig," Nnoitra growled as he rose, shoving past him with irritation. Hauling open the door so that he could better see his two guests, he found himself staring down at Yylfordt. The blonde Fraccion gave him an impassive look, distinctly unimpressed by his scowl, and pushed a small figure with a colorful shock of hair forward. Nnoitra did not have to look down to know who it was.

"Get the fuck out of my hall, Yylfordt," he warned.

"Gladly, as soon as I drop your new charge off," Yylfordt replied coolly, "And now that I have, my job is done. Good day, Jiruga."

"Don't you fucking turn and leave! Take him with you!" Nnoitra demanded, furious, but Yylfordt only offered him a disgusted look and walked away, leaving the Quinta alone in his wing with the former Octava. The child Arrancar waited for the tall Espada to stop swearing and glowering at the blonde Fraccion's back. Though he didn't stop either, he did redirect his attention to Szayel.

"You," he informed him with a dangerous hiss, "Are going to regret coming to me. I am going to make your life so miserable you'll beg to be allowed to crawl back to your brother."

All the same, he stood back to admit him into his room, knowing that Aizen would punish him if he left the boy in the hallway thus flouting his orders. The child walked inside, and Nnoitra slammed the door, staring furiously at the wall for a long moment before he turned around to look at him. Szayel just stood there silently, a small, frail looking figure with pink hair and a pair of broken glasses and…

_Just one good eye. Just one goddamn eye. Shit! The universe is laughing at me._ The other was covered by a white patch of cloth, and he could see a spot of crimson where some of the boy's blood had seeped through. The sight was painfully ironic. A sick cosmological joke. Szayel looked up, offering him a tentative smile from beneath curling lashes. A sweet smile, cautiously hopeful, and then he spoke.

"It is good to meet you, Nnoitra-sama. I am in your care."

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

So then, I've finally gotten the second chapter up. Even though I wrote it more than a month ago. Truly a testament to how unmotivated I become when studying drags me down. Even now I'm procrastinating by typing this up and uploading it. I won't spend too long boring you with commentary you likely don't read.

As you can tell, chapter three is when we'll start to get into the NnoitraxSzayel interactions. And you might think, what the hell is this crap? What's with Yylfordt? I couldn't care less who he likes or whether he has a mask fetish. Or maybe not. But either way, it all contributes to plot progression. This won't be the last we hear from our taurine friend, or Grimmjow for that matter. But shush... no spoilers. -_- You'll all spot the pattern to my mind's cracky meanderings soon enough. Hurray for Szayel showing his true colors. ^^ He isn't the sweet little brat he makes himself out to be. Nope. He's got ulterior motives. Mmm... yes. (Random fangirl sqee: Tesla!)

Read and review, as always. I'll stalk your profile and write you amusing replies. Maybe. owo Ah... did I type that or think that?

~Tinari


	3. Third

"Let's get one thing cleared up early on; I'm not caring for you," the Quinta spat with venom. "If you've got a problem, solve it yourself, and above all stay the hell outa my way!"

Szayel's face fell a little, but otherwise he didn't seem nearly as intimidated as Nnoitra would have hoped. _Little freak… doesn't fucking understand the situation. _If he did, Nnoitra didn't care to wonder why. The former Octava had a convoluted mind, and it wasn't worthwhile to try and understand his motivations. They just weren't normal.

"Ok" was the subdued reply he got. Nnoitra sneered at him, then returned to his sofa. However, when he noticed Szayel following him, he turned around again; angry.

"I told you to stay out of my way," he growled, shifting Santa Teresa in his grip threateningly. Szayel stopped, looking down at his feet.

"Sorry… but I don't really have anything to do."

"Go do what you usually do."

"I don't know what that is," he said, pursing his lips.

"You experiment. In your lab. Remember?" Nnoitra prompted, and Szayel shook his head.

"I only vaguely recall I even have one," the boy replied petulantly. The Quinta scowled.

"Not my problem. You go screw around with your sick little experiments or you sit in that corner, shut up, and pretend to be part of the wall. Got it?"

"Aren't you supposed to watch out for me?" Szayel asked quietly. The Quinta's eye narrowed and his lips curled back into a snarl. In an instant he was upon the boy, hauling him up by the back of his uniform. Szayel looked shocked as he was slammed into the wall, though this expression of wide eyed alarm shifted to a wince as pain radiated from his shoulder, which had borne the brunt of the impact. Still holding the boy aloft with one hand, the other brought Santa Teresa's curved blade to bear against the soft skin of his throat. A thin line of red trickled to the surface where the weapon nicked his flesh.

"Don't fuck with me, Grantz. Just in case that empty little skull of yours doesn't remember, I'm the one who made you like this. I'm the one who fucked up your eye, and if you don't make yourself scarce, that won't be the only part of you I maim."

The child nodded to show he understood, and Nnoitra let him slide to the ground with a look of disgust. He crumpled there for a moment, drawing his knees up to his chest in a defensive ball as he squeezed his good eye shut. Then, as if rousing the willpower to go on, he uncurled and picked himself up from the floor, looking away from Nnoitra.

"You've made your point," he remarked softly by way of explanation as he wiped the garnet line of blood from his throat. It must have stained the gloves he wore, but they were black and the blood wouldn't show. Nnoitra seemed unconvinced.

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

Nnoitra examined the boy's face, searching for insincerity. Though he wouldn't look him in the eye, the Quinta didn't get the impression that he was lying. It was either he was telling the truth, or he was a damn good actor. Nnoitra grunted.

"Good. Now go."

The child hunched his shoulders dejectedly and scampered; he heard the door open and shut as he exited. An expression of disbelief twisted the Quinta's face; he looked like a puppy that had been kicked. So pathetic. Why the hell had Aizen burdened him with the little brat? That should be work for Hallibel or the other female Arrancar, not him. Shaking his head at the unfairness of it all, the tall Espada resumed his late afternoon nap without a second thought.

Tesla watched his master sleep apprehensively, wondering how Lord Aizen would respond when he found him to be neglecting his duties.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Two days passed without a word from the former Octava. In fact, Nnoitra saw not a single pink hair of him for forty-eight hours. Wonderful. He must have found something to occupy himself with in his lab. It was usually that way; the scientist would busy himself with one project or another and go AWOL for days, sometimes even weeks. The only thing that would force him out of his fortress of a lab during his obsessive phases were the mandatory meetings Aizen would call, and even when Szayel showed up, it wasn't hard to tell he was sour about being disturbed.

Other times he was eerily friendly, approaching the other Espada with an amicable smile and a gleam in his yellow eyes that whispered of sinister ulterior motives. Nnoitra was particularly wary of him during these times or whenever he spoke to him casually, words softly sarcastic and phrased to draw a reaction out of him. It could have been the flamboyant man making an attempt at sociability, but Nnoitra couldn't reconcile how he'd just as readily put Arrancar under and use them in his tests with this possibility.

What he was doing now, the Quinta did not care; and so when Aizen called a meeting five days later and the boy still hadn't turned up, Nnoitra thought little of it other than how convenient things had turned out to be. It would appear Szayel could take care of himself.

The Espada meeting was quieter than usual. It was painfully clear, as he arrived late like always, that there was an empty place among their ranks. The scientific, sardonic, pink haired member of the ten was absent. Nnoitra felt eyes turn toward him as he sat down across from the empty seat.

"Thank you for finally joining us, Nnoitra. Would you care to explain where Szayel Aporro is at this time?" Aizen asked coolly.

Nnoitra shrugged, nonchalant.

"Not here," he answered unhelpfully.

"Then where? You are supposed to watch over him at all times."

"Look, I aint no fuckin' babysitter," Nnoitra growled, irritated that even when he wasn't immediately around, the former Octava still caused problems for him. Aizen steepled his fingers at the head of the table, looking unimpressed by his bravado.

"If that is so, then maybe the next time you are hit with the urge to maim your fellow Espada, you will refrain from doing it. Or pick a more expendable target."

Nnoitra ground his teeth, an action he knew he'd be falling back upon more and more frequently.

"Fine my_ Lord_. I'll go play with him after we get off business here."

"You needn't play, Nnoitra. All you have to do is get him to remember, and however you do _that_… I won't judge. But remember, the ends justify the means… and if I am not satisfied with the final product you'll be the one to answer for it."

Hell. That man gave him chills. Nnoitra leered unpleasantly and blew his words off with an arrogant "Sure," but in truth, Aizen's threat disturbed him more than he let on. Odious a task as caring for Szayel was, he knew that Aizen would make him _hurt_ if he couldn't get the child Arrancar back to his former state.

And anyways, he'd given him permission to use whatever methods he desired as long as he was successful. _So don't screw up, Nnoitra. As long as you don't screw up, everything will be fine._ The lanky Espada allowed his face to fix itself into an expression of bored attentiveness and let the rest of the meeting fade into oblivion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Szayel!"

Nnoitra pounded on the door to Szayel's suite impatiently, waiting for the kid or one of his Fraccion to open the door. He waited this way for about five minutes before losing patience and yelling again.

"Hey you little bitch! If you don't come and open this door in one minute, I'm gonna kick it off its damn hinges."

The Quinta allowed for another sixty seconds to pass before glowering.

"That's it. Better pray your door is unlocked or you're losing it," he threatened as he tried the knob, not expecting it to turn. To his surprise, he felt it give easily in his hand, and the door opened smoothly to admit him. A wonder; Szayel always kept his door locked. To think of it, he hadn't run into any traps on the way over either. Very unusual; the former Octava was notorious for being paranoid. Shrugging, he entered.

"Szayel, where the hell are you?" Nnoitra called, annoyed he was acting weirdly. But the guy had lost his memories after all. _Anyways, he's probably sulking that I told him to get out hiding somewhere to piss me off. Asshole._

A savage growl claimed his attention, and glancing over in the direction of the unexpected sound, he caught sight of a feline creature stalking towards him from around a corner. Bony protrusions emerged from the ruff around its throat and all along its spine. Its tail, thin and whiplike with nasty looking barbed grapples on the ends, was forked. Its paws were massive, and ridged claws flexed as it paced forward. Fangs, long and curved, protruded over its jaw like a saber toothed lion.

Nnoitra felt his lips curving into a grin as he sized the animal up; it was enormous, its shoulder coming up to his waist. Here was some entertainment. With a savage roar, the creature pounced, and Nnoitra swung his zanpakuto to hit it in the stomach. It was thrown back by the swing, but instead of opening up a massive gash in the beast's belly, only a shallow slice was inflicted. The animal growled as it recovered its footing, amber eyes narrowing warily, and it began to circle him.

Nnoitra's crazed grin broadened; the thing, whatever it was, had a relatively strong Hierro. Twirling his pole axe casually, he beckoned it over.

"Come on! Don't you want to eat me?" he taunted. The creature's ears flattened as it lunged forward, and Nnoitra laughed condescendingly as he swung his weapon down… on empty air. Santa Teresa wedged in the floor, and while he was still registering how bad that was, the creature seized its chance. A hot wind on the back of his neck was all he got before he was knocked to the floor. The breath was forced out of his lungs by a crushing weight on his back.

_Shit._

Teeth closed around the back of his neck, the jaws tensing to sever jugular, windpipe, and vertebrae.

_Like hell I'm becoming food for one of Szayel's experiments!_ Jabbing an elbow into its throat, he felt its mouth go slack and threw it off him, standing up. The Quinta was no longer amused; he was incensed. Striding over to Santa Teresa, he ripped her out of the marble floor, ignoring how the stone cracked and chips flew up as he drug the weapon free. With a bitter grin no less mad than his previous one, he called on his Resurreccion.

"Pray, Santa Teresa."

The thing did not last long after that. He laughed as he hacked it to pieces in a flurry of cuts so fast the average eye could not follow them, and reveled in the gory spray that flecked his face when he finally decapitated it. But that wasn't the pinnacle of his triumph. No, the icing on the cake came when from down the same hall, another feline creature appeared, this one lacking the mane that had graced the other. It loosed a heartrending shriek of sorrow and rage upon the sight of its fallen comrade, and launched itself with no preamble at its murderer. Nnoitra casually sliced up along its abdominal cavity as it hurtled towards him and stepped aside, watching its entrails spill out as it fell. The animal, which he supposed was the mate to the other, spasmed horrifically on the floor before expiring in a pool of blood and offal. Curling his nose at the reek, he stepped over it and down the hall they'd come from. Szayel had to be this way.

_That little shit. Sending his experiments after me. When I find him, I'm going to haul his ass off to my wing and beat him until he wishes he were dead._

There; ahead, an open door. Striding into the room, he expected to find a pissed off Espada waiting for him, but instead found nothing. Nnoitra did a double take. He was positive the boy would be here. Irritated, he prepared to leave, but the sound of sniffling captured his attention. Nnoitra looked up.

High on a shelf, looking miserable and petrified, Szayel huddled. As Nnoitra watched, the boy raised his head and peeked over the protective rim of his arms. His face was a mess, streaked with snot and tears. His eye was red rimmed from his crying, and dark circles welled under them from exhaustion. The moment he saw Nnoitra, a flicker of hope ignited in his lachrymose face.

"Are they gone? Did you kill them?" he inquired anxiously, his voice cracking from despair.

Nnoitra looked down at his bloody clothes, then back up at Szayel. The child caught the look, relief melting some of the tension from his face.

"You didn't send them after me?" Nnoitra asked.

The Arrancar shook his head fervently, then shivered.

"God no… they've been roaming around ever since my idiot Fraccion set them free by mistake. They're all dead now, and I've been trapped up here for the last four days… I guess I should count myself lucky I managed to get here where they can't get me, but I haven't been able to sleep in case I fall off… and they're clever. They've come close to, t-to…"

Tears threatened the coherency of his explanation as he broke down crying, and Nnoitra was torn between his irritation with him and a feeling of wonder. Four days he'd been up there, under constant psychological stress not to mention the physical needs of his own body. All things considering, he could have been much worse off. He had a stronger composition than he'd initially supposed.

Still, Nnoitra gave him a look of disgust as he watched him sob. He was fine now, wasn't he? No need to bawl like a- _child… well shit, I guess he is one. But he's a fucking Espada too, or he was._

"Dipshit," was all he said as he reached up to the boy. Szayel crawled to the rim of his ledge, bending forward to grab his proffered hands. Nnoitra tugged him off, and he fell into his arms, immediately clinging to his chest with a needy sort of panic. Taken by surprise by this reaction, he stared at the shivering mass of boy that pressed against him for a minute before acting. With a scowl, he peeled the former Octava off of him and shook him.

"Get a hold of yourself, Grantz!" he yelled to his face.

_What the hell was that clinginess? Has his personality really done a 180? _Nnoitra found himself regarding the pink haired Arrancar before him with confusion. The boy himself seemed shocked out of his little meltdown, for he bit his trembling lower lip and blinked the tears out of his eye.

"Y-yeah…" he finally muttered, and Nnoitra put him down. He proceeded to fiddle with his clothing, trying to straighten out the wrinkles manually and periodically reaching up to wipe his eyes or adjust his glasses and hair. That was more like the vain Espada, so concerned about appearance. Making a noise of dismissal, he turned on his heel and began to walk out.

"Aizen got pissed at me for hauling off and leaving you alone, so you're just gonna have to tag along," he remarked to the open air. His comment was met only with the soft patter of footsteps as Szayel followed him. Nnoitra's mood steadily darkened as they made their way back to his quarters, though he couldn't quite put a finger on the reason. By the time Tesla greeted them at the door to his room, he pushed the boy towards him.

"Here. He'll be sleeping with you Tesla. Any complaints, brat?"

He glanced down at Szayel, who shook his head wordlessly.

"That's settled then. I'll deal with all this shit in the morning; I'm not in the mood to think right now," the Quinta rumbled. He made as if to turn and leave, but paused just before he actually stepped out of the room. A sly expression crossed his face as he considered his slender Fraccion, and he reached toward him languorously, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Except you'll be coming to my room tonight."

Tesla's eyes widened slightly as he looked down at Szayel, then back at Nnoitra. The Quinta leered, as if to ask if there was any problem with his order. The blonde Fraccion's lips thinned ever so slightly, but he dipped his head in acquiescence, murmuring softly,

"As you wish, Nnoitra-sama."

Nnoitra left them to acquaint themselves, and Tesla looked over at the child Arrancar, searching his face for some sort of reaction. Finding no emotion in particular on his face, which he noted was filthy, he settled for pointing out a few of the important amenities hesitantly.

"Over there is my bed, and if you walk down a ways, you'll find the bathroom. You can clean up there if you wish. I'll be back… later, if you need anything."

The child returned his cautious words with slight nod to show he'd understood, and Tesla took his leave of him, feeling his large golden eyes watch him as he left the room. Though he hadn't said anything, the Fraccion felt a distinct chill from the boy that made him uncomfortable.

Szayel stood by the door for a minute or two, gazing blankly at where the two other Arrancar had departed before he finally stirred himself to walk over to Tesla's bed and curl up under the covers without bothering to visit the bathroom to wash his face. But however he buried his pink tufted head in the pillows, he couldn't drown out the noises that sounded from the next room over.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Joy. ;~; I managed to get this chapter up today too, although now I doubt I'll have time for FP. I'd stay up late finishing that one if I didn't have to get up tomorrow. That one takes priority next; I've been far too bad about updating it. But that doesn't matter, since it doesn't have anything to do with this fic. Well, here is part two of my late birthday gift to my readers. On Monday, I got the crazy idea to update all my fics by the end of this week. Well, two out of three is good, no? I'll wrangle the last one tomorrow.

Chapter three of Impressions is a bit overdue as well, so my apologies for that. Hopefully it was worth the wait. Its nothing special in my humble opinion, but then, I feel ambivalent to most of my chapters. And there is nothing in particular that needs clarification, so I'll keep this AN short. How did Szayel get up to his ledge? I'd originally intended for him to climb up onto a stack of boxes, which he then overturned as he jumped for the ledge, which is actually a shelf for textbooks, which he ended up throwing at the cat-like creatures in the beginning before he ran out. This didn't endear him towards them a bit. Of course, I left this out of the story because as you may have noticed, its mostly from Nnoitra's point of view. I suppose I could have mentioned the overturned boxes and shredded books littering the floor. Ah, well, that's what this section is for.

Read and review please. ^^ It encourages me to update more frequently. Plus, I love getting constructive crit on my writing or feedback on what you especially liked and such. Gracias por leer. :3

~Tinari

Edit: Deleted and reuploaded because for some reason, the chapter wouldn't show up. Hopefully it will now...


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